Return to Sender

What do you know of pain? Is it simply pulses of electricity our nerve endings send to our brains when we fall off a bike or run into a wall? Or is it something deeper than our dendrites- Like the one you love loving someone else, or a dying sister who just wants to go home. Tell me, what do you know of life? Is it honestly just a series of skinned knees and torn hearts sprinkled with store-bought cake, balloons, and frozen dairy product? I want to know your hurts,bring them to me in the pockets of your aprons, in the holes of your shoes, and written on the backs of losing lottery tickets. We'll put them in the empty jar where I'm supposed to save the tips I make for wearing makeup and smiling at customers. We'll address it to God himself with extra stamps for weight, and in five to ten business days we'll get something back- The same damn jar only empty this time except for a tiny note that says "Fight." So then we'll turn around and do it. We'll fight for our lives and fight for the salted blood thundering through us because we belong here! And then we'll remember that before reality did its best to pummel us into complacence we fought to be here when everything first began- When we burst forth from our dark watery prisons and filled our protesting lungs with air. So maybe life hurts. But by God I belong here. and I refuse, I refuse, I refuse to go without my fists clenched tightly in defense.

missing the point

Once not long ago I sat in my living room to drink the last of a well deserved bottle of booze. In the silence I noticed, as we often do in silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall opposite me. As I watched the second hand make its way passed the 3, the 6, and then the 10, I thought of you. I thought of the time we had left. I thought of the time I've wasted thinking about time. Then I thought about the time I've wasted thinking about the time I've wasted. The glass I was drinking from was half empty, so I drained it and threw it at the clock...I missed, but the glass exploded into a million pieces. I was so sure I had picked up every last shard by now, but every once in a while when I cross paths with the clock, a piece of glass that was hiding in the carpet sticks me in the foot. So I curse loudly and sit down to dig the shard out of my sole, and every time I look up at the clock and scream at it like it was the clock's fault you died....I guess it sort of was.